Karida and i talked about fantasies over dinner.  i had remarked that i don’t really fantasize, that i’ve been told that what i actually do-replaying memories and dreams-isn’t actually fantasizing.

i think of fantasizing as something closer to what Oliva or Nilla do, weaving stories, plots, people together and using their innermost driving forces to snare them.

So, Karida probed a bit deeper, wanting to know what i think about while cumming alone.

What i think about is pretty random, i think.

The only man i had amazing sex with in my life, because the first time we were in bed, i only had the language to say, “Forget that you love me, forget you even know my name.  Force pleasure for yourself from my body.  Use me.”  His eyes suddenly turned dark, his demon came forth like a dark secret, and he asked me if i was sure.  Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed me by the hair, slammed me down with his hands around my throat, and fucked me until i was bruised, bleeding, pleading, crying for it to stop, pleading for him to hurry-but he wouldn’t-he would just reply-very calmly-“You can take it, and you will,” and fuck me harder.

About a year into our relationship, where i would spend the weekends with him, he had a little pissy fit about how he was tired from work and didn’t want to fuck.  i had acknowledged his complaint, my energy cool and aloof, inviting no further conversation-but i told him that was fine, that i could give him a massage instead, and he went for a shower.

When he came out, his dick was already hard, and i was betting it was so hard that there was pre cum.  i smiled, Victorious.

Because, truly, i didn’t really give a shit if he was tired.  What i cared about was that he could not control his dick from getting hard around me, that he had to face that my cunt had power, and i like it that way.  Even knowing in the next hour or two, i’d live to regret his hard dick, the sheets would have blood, i wouldn’t know what my name was or care, it still felt genuinely victorious.

i suppose that explains how i like my sex.  Something neither of us can fully control.  Something just beyond our mutual ability to say, “no” and make it stick for long.

i knew a woman who was a pure masochist, that any form of pain made her become arroused, to the point of being able to orgasm from it.  She had burned herself accidentally, in a place i had become accustomed to touching, a place i thought of as mine.  i had inadvertently touched her on the burn two or three times, beneath her jeans, and there is a Queer Sex second sense that tells you when a female-identified body has a hard dick.  i felt my familiar victory smile-and then her eyes turned Demon, and very quietly, very calmly, she said, “If you touch me there again, girl, I’m going to rape you.”

i felt a heady sense, a rush of joy, and excitement and adrenaline, because i wanted to make her do it with just the look in my eyes, the cruel smile on my lips.


Once, someone i am madly in love with, told me she wanted to take me to a Harley Davidson shop, where they had a fine selection of belts.  She knew the shop keepers enough to ask if they would mind her trying out the merchandise on me before buying for her collection, and when she told me this, i demured.  Not because i objected to being objectified.  i don’t.  But because the joy for me was in not being able to say no, to stop it, to not decide anything about how far it will go.  The simple fact is, she is wired exactly the same way, in reverse.  Sure, she loves belts.  She also loves that she fucked with my wiring enough that i will crave the thing i hate.  That when i’m screaming, “I hate you!” it’s just getting good.  And that, just like me, her “No,” doesn’t mean a whole lot.

It might mean, “not now.” But it can’t mean a whole hell of a lot more than that because i can ping her psychically and there is a line between that and her cunt, just like mine.

The joy is in riding the razor thin area between You not being able to control your dick….and me not being able to control you raping me.

Force. Rape. Desire. Need. Rage. Demons. Something-near-hate-and-love, mixed together.

Left to my own devices, i am my own kind of primal.  i bite, i kick, i suck, my nails dig in, i want to hurt you, want to fight you and loose, and want to give you every fucking thing inside of me at the same time.

i am totally comfortable shoving a Top down, going down on them, and not asking in any way first.  i don’t have a problem with that.  i don’t mind doing all the work after a long day.

So this is where my mind goes, rather than fantasies.  It is a compilation of real life, dreams that are more real than life, and memories that haven’t happened yet.

i am awake inside again, growling, hungry, sweaty need.

i am awake.


3 thoughts on “Fantasy?

  1. Ira says:

    I can say one thing–that’s the Jade I know LOL!!! Get the strap are her favorite words LOL!!!! Hearts…

    • jadescastle says:

      lol I hate you so much right now! But I thought you deserved a little treat and I thought you may like reading this. 💙 You have a beautiful perverse mind and a dick you can’t quite control. Don’t forget who you really are inside. Ever.

    • jadescastle says:

      Just so you know, i still fantasize about burning your strap, because that is totally where that thing belongs. i had to listen to a strap sound at the Presentation Saturday and was a flinching, sweaty, nauseas, horny little Mess. If i could have recorded the sound, i would have and sent it to you. No reason i should suffer alone. You couldn’t quite control your dick, either, and i loved that about you. Heh. ❤

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